


Vanitas

by bbvqueen



Series: The Venom In Our Veins [2]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Brainwashing, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Facials, Identity Issues, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mindfuck, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Kissing, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Somnophilia, Unconscious Sex, Voyeurism, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2018-04-26 07:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4995910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbvqueen/pseuds/bbvqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ishmael wakes before Ahab does. BB POV.</p><p>Contains rape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. EXSOMNIS

He’s stopped counting the days since his awakening – it might’ve been a week, or two, or even more than that. Time is still as meaningless as it had been while in a coma, because he's still chained down to a bed for as long as his twin remains asleep.

Well no, that isn’t right – he can walk around the room and work out, though God help him if he's caught outside of it, because the nurses and Ocelot wouldn’t let him live it down. _For your own safety, just stay in there…_ Apparently he had already done a good job of getting both Ocelot and the head doctor (Cipher personnel, he could tell) into mild trouble by failing to consistently conceal his own face, so they’d come up with some sort of cover story to tell the hospital staff, wringing hands as they tried to make it sound halfway believable.

Big Boss doesn’t care too much. The bandages itched, so he tore them off. He can be Ishmael later.

He kills time by catching up on worldly affairs with the help of magazines and the old radio Ocelot has provided him with. When he isn’t reading articles or listening to newscasts in pretty much all the languages he can still remember, he's smoking at the open window and putting some tape or other into his Walkman. The nurses always come at the same time, wordlessly placing down his dinner and switching out IV bags and audio recordings. Sometimes they bring more flowers, like there aren't enough yet. They never talk to him, and avoid looking at his face. Ocelot comes to visit once every few days, mostly to inform him about recent developments – it's never much of a conversation, but at least he gets to speak a few words, then.

They’d be waking him up, soon, and put the plan that they’d worked out into motion. He tries not to think too much about the thing on the other side of the room and its role in it, but he knows he can’t avoid him for much longer.

When he lays in bed, awake and staring at the sterile ceiling, he thinks about how beautiful the sunlit sky would look, and how nice the morning breeze would feel on his face once he's outside, free to go wherever he wants. _Do_ whatever he wants, because he’d leave the burden of being ‘Big Boss’ with his phantom, all thanks to Zero. Big Boss wonders sometimes where he is now, what else he is plotting, what his ulterior motives are.

No matter.

For the umpteenth time that week, he tries to rub one out – one arm draped over his eyes, while his other hand slips beneath his hospital gown, lazily fondling his own, flaccid cock and shoving the foreskin back and forth. Unfortunately Ocelot hadn’t thought to bring him any _adult_ magazines, and Big Boss hadn’t thought to bring it up in the first place. So he imagines one of those nurses instead – the busty one, _Iris_ or whatever her name is, he doesn’t remember. He’s watched her out of the corner of his eye sometimes, particularly when she was leaning over his double and changing his bandages, half-sitting on the bed with her curvaceous ass jutting out. He thinks of different scenes as he fists himself – him shoving that skirt up her thighs and roughly pounding her drenched pussy, or her on her knees and squeezing his leaking cock between her full tits, covered with precum.

It almost seems to work, for a while – at least until the steady and persistent _beep_ of the ECG floats back to the forefront of his consciousness, replacing the obscene smacking of flesh against flesh in his masturbation fantasy, because its pace has increased notably, jarringly. He hears himself groan.

“Ugh… Boss…”

Big Boss breathes a long, suffering sigh, and stops. He wipes his hand clean on the sheets. So much for that…

The intervals between the beeps keep becoming shorter, and he wonders if something's wrong, which would actually be a first. He sits up, and climbs off the bed to pull the curtain aside – taking a closer look at his self-grown doppelganger for the very first time, lying motionless in his bed.

It's still difficult for him to believe that he isn’t actually conscious – trapped in some weird state between wakefulness and sleep thanks to the drugs they’d pumped him full of, dulling all of his senses except hearing. He looks at his partly bandaged face, which is less swollen around the scars now, a flawless reconstruction of Big Boss’s face, eerie in its perfection. If he didn’t known better, he would’ve thought he's gazing straight into a mirror.

His cheeks are wet, his eyelids flitting and features contorted, like he's in pain… Big Boss takes another step towards him, sees the earbuds plugging up his ears, connected to a cassette player holding a tape titled ‘Operation Snake Eater’.

He hesitates for a moment, but then he reaches out and pulls one of the earbuds out, holding it close to his own ear.

 

**_“…order is 60 miles south of here. You ought to be able to run that_ _far.“_ **

**_"Why’d you defect?“_ **

**_"I didn’t. I'm loyal... to the ‘end.’ To my purpose. What about you, Jack? What's it going to be? Loyalty to your country, or loyalty to me? Your country, or your mentor? Your mission, or-"_ **

 

He pushes ‘Stop’ on the player, letting the bud drop back onto the bed, next to his face. How often has he listened to that tape during those nine years? How often is he going to listen to this still before the drugs finally wear off? It's arguably the most important mission he’d ever carried out – the one earning him his title and forking the path at the same time.

Big Boss sits at the edge of the bed, hands in his lap. He looks at his stolen face and tries to remember the man that had thrown himself in front of him in the helicopter, protecting his commander with his life – but he can’t even recall what he’d looked like, anymore, much less his name.

 _'We’ll ask him when he wakes up, maybe he still knows,’_ Ocelot had said, and shrugged. _‘If not, we’ll make something up. We can forge a passport in less than five minutes.’_

He presses two fingers to Ahab's eyebrow, pulls the first lid up – milky white and ruined on purpose. Then he checks the other eye, staring right through him, glazed and moist. Another tear beads at the outer corner, running down the side of his face.

He knows that this is wrong, on every conceivable level. He knows a man better than himself would pull the plug – would wrap his hands around his throat and press him deeper into the mattress until the ECG goes silent. A good man would put him out of his misery and set him free before he wakes up as someone else and speaks another man’s tongue.

He hasn’t been a good man for a long time, now. Big Boss shifts his weight, leaning down. His lips brush over his phantom’s ear, blowing softly into it.

“I’m counting on you,” he murmurs, huskily. “Make me proud.”

**_Help me ma_ _ke my dream come true._ **

He whispers other things, all of them assuring and comforting, sweet and tender— _I’m right here, I won’t leave, listen to my voice, shh_ —promising him that everything would be alright. The ECG gradually slows down, returning to a normal pace as he speaks. He feels Ahab’s warm, steady breath ghosting over his own cheek when he draws back, and becomes aware of his own quickening pulse when only a few inches are separating his face from his, now wearing a peaceful expression.

He doesn’t think about anything when he touches his fingertips to his facial scars, gently tracing them. He feels out the creases in his face, his bone structure, the shape of the skull underneath. His thumb arrives at his bottom lip, stroking over it, his index finger tipping his chin up ever so slightly.

This is the only other person in this room, warm and alive – his mirror self. He doesn’t have the voice to protest, not that Big Boss thinks that he would. He’s been hanging onto his lips for longer than he can consciously remember.

Licking over his own dry lips, he presses them against his, soft and pliant and already parted. They taste of disinfectant and seasalt when he gently kisses the upper one first, then the bottom one, trying to memorize the chapped texture – do his own feel like that? He swipes the tip of his tongue over them, before sliding between and into his mouth, covering it with his own. He bumps noses with him, finds that the bristles of his beard tickle.

He isn’t sure if that muffled, guttural noise just now had been produced in his throat, or Ahab’s. He supposes it doesn’t really matter.

Big Boss explores his warm and moist mouth as far as he can reach, running over rows of teeth, prodding his lifeless tongue. He separates only briefly for air, then dives right back in, with more vigor and less inhibition. His right hand has found its way back between his legs to take his erect dick into his palm.

He shoves his tongue deeper, grinding his face against his, hard. Soon he begins to thrust in a steady rhythm, fucking his mouth, and his hand mimicks his motions further down. His mind drifts off, pictures his own cock sliding in and out, in and out, filling his throat, stifling all noise. His hand moves faster.

_That’s it…_

“Ohh, shit,” he sucks in a harsh breath when he comes up, staring at Ahab’s mouth, wide open, their glistening lips still connected by a single thread of saliva. He severs it with his tongue, then hastily climbs onto the bed to straddle the other man’s chest. He lifts his gown, shifts his weight forward and holds onto the metal bar of the headboard while his other hand continues to pump his own dripping cock at a rapid pace, its head continuously rubbing over Ahab’s chin, poking his bottom lip.

Were he not already so close, he would’ve slammed it right in.

Big Boss comes with a low but exultant growl which he muffles against his own upper arm, gaze riveted to his phantom’s face. He watches as it's stained with streaks of cum that fly from his erupting dick, hitting his cheeks and eyes and forehead. The last few spurts cover his lips, flowing into his mouth as he milks himself to completion.

All of his selfish lust, right there on his face. He hears Ahab swallow reflexively, then his head rolls to the side.

Big Boss gives a gritty sigh, bracing himself against the headboard with both hands, basking in his afterglow and reflecting on what he's just done.

“I’m already going to hell anyway,” he mutters under his breath, resigned, in a brief moment of clarity and self-awareness. He glances at the clock on the wall – about an hour until a nurse would drop by. He dismounts his doppelganger and climbs off the bed to fetch a pack of tissues from his side of the room.

He sets out on the task of meticulously removing all evidence and traces, starting by cleaning Ahab’s face, making sure that not a single drop of semen remains. Unscrewing a bottle of water, he pinches his nose close and pours some of the liquid down his throat, forcing him to repeatedly cough and swallow it all. After that, he changes the bandages and sheets – there are fresh ones in the cabinet, fortunately. He tosses the dirty set of sheets next to his own bed for the nurse to pick up.

Finally he puts the earbuds back in, fast-forwarding the tape about fifteen minutes before he presses ‘Play’.

He notices the weird, mildly disgusted look the nurse gives him when she comes, as scheduled, to check up on Ahab and set down Big Boss’s dinner. She doesn’t ask him about the sheets, tugging at the fabric and presumably spotting the stains.

Big Boss continues reading his TIME magazine, pretending not to care. The nurse brushes past Ocelot when she leaves the room to take care of the laundry, bumping into him.

“John?” He stops in the doorframe, puzzled.

“You know,” Big Boss says, peering at him over the top of the magazine, “I wouldn’t mind you bringing me some magazines that have better _articles_ , if you catch my drift?”


	2. LEVISOMNUS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ive been itching to write this for MONTHS  
> Oh well here you are mind the warnings read at your own risk etc

They say that one shot is usually enough to get you hooked for life. Looking back at the first time he smelled blood from a kill, or the first time he tasted the rich flavor of a Cuban cigar, perhaps that’s not too far from the truth. He can’t find any other explanation as to why he’s sitting on a bed that’s not his own, springs creaking quietly under his shifting weight when he touches his doppelganger’s face again, after plucking out the earbuds and the IV drip; fingertips idly running over his forehead, temples, eyelids, nose, jaw, lips -

And down, along his Adam’s apple and collarbone, exploring a bared chest that doesn’t mirror his own bulk, appearing weak and frail in comparison.

It’s odd. One would think that the magazine Ocelot had eventually brought him would be enough to get any pent up arousal (9 years _is_ a pretty long time) out of his system, but he couldn’t even concentrate on the images of naked, big-breasted and willing women once they were in front of his eyes. They’d done nothing for him, and then his thoughts had drifted off - his still comatose neighbor occupying his mind instead, a spitting image of himself, helplessly bound to the bed and at the mercy of those awake.

At the mercy of Big Boss, who’s by his side and watching every day, every minute, every breath, while they’re trapped together here. And nothing is ever going to leave the unholy sanctity of this space isolated from the outside world.

 _Does it really matter?_ He thinks, nail scratching over a soft nipple. The thumb is dragged over a long, jagged scar on his stomach, before hooking into the waistband of his pants.

He finds himself thinking that a lot, since he woke up. Plenty of damage has been caused already, and there’ll never be an end to it. He’s already taking advantage of his copy - his personality overwritten like a cassette tape - so he doesn’t believe that this makes much of a difference, nor does it bother his conscience too much.

He wanted it, like this. He wanted to be here. He wanted the pain in his stead.

Big Boss pulls down Ahab’s pants. His body is completely exposed and shivers subtly, but his pulse is only a little higher than usual. Almost normal. His eyelids are twitching, and he looks like someone having a nightmare and struggling to wake up. When Big Boss places his warm palm on his thigh he keens, quietly. He reaches for the syringe he’d smuggled from the pharmacy the night before; a very potent cocktail of sedatives. The head doctor had stopped injecting his phantom with it not long ago in order to facilitate his awakening.

He wouldn’t wake up tonight. He’s sure that, too, won’t matter much. Big Boss takes his healthy arm and stabs the needle into a visible vein, emptying the sedative into his bloodstream.

“You’ll be having a heart attack when you wake up, anyway,” he says. “No need to make it worse.”

Ahab sighs audibly, and gradually returns to a peaceful sleep, unbothered by - or unaware - of what’s going on outside his prison. Big Boss sets the syringe aside and begins to work on himself instead, to fist his cock in long, slow strokes, while the sedative runs its course. Because of his twisted attraction to his doppelganger it doesn’t take too long until he sports a semi-hard on, stiff enough to unwrap and roll a condom over it. Ocelot had had enough foresight to leave one for him between the pages of the porn mag, to minimize the mess.

Well, that’s what it’s still for, but even Ocelot probably hadn’t considered that he’d use it like this.

Getting his hands on some vaseline hadn’t been difficult, either, and once he’s done with himself, he’s back with Ahab. Big Boss slaps his cheek lightly, getting no reaction. Good. He dips two fingers into the jar, scoops up some of the jelly, and pushes Ahab’s legs apart enough so he has easy access to his puckered, unused asshole.

He shoves them inside, and his phantom easily takes them both, despite how tight he is - he’s still pliable, his body unable to resist.

“You don’t,” Big Boss says, fucking his pair of fingers in and out of him to slick his hole up, “Even feel this, do you? I think you know what’s happening, but it doesn’t matter to you. And when you wake up, it’ll feel like a distant dream. I’ve had those, too.”

In, out, in, out - they go deeper with every thrust, until his fingers are buried completely each time and there’s no more resistance, no more unpleasant friction, and almost no force involved. Ahab seems to swallow them up and accommodate him easily.

“Most of them eventually became my reality. People use and abuse you until you’re numb, and then all you can do is watch your life go up in flames. And I…”

He pulls out, quickly smearing what’s left of the vaseline over his latex-covered dick. Big Boss climbs onto the bed and situates himself between Ahab’s thighs, arranging his lifeless limbs into the desired position like a ragdoll.

“I’m supposed to just take it.”

Taking his cock into his hand, he guides it to Ahab’s stretched hole and starts to push in immediately, without an ounce of hesitation. He keeps going until he’s halfway there, until it gets a little too uncomfortable and Ahab mewls, the assault still too sudden and forceful.

“Shh, shhh,” Big Boss shushes him, pausing. He strokes over his sides and hips, leaning down.

“It’s all good. I’m in control now. I’ll take care of you. Be good.”

_Be quiet._

Big Boss cups his face with both hands and kisses him on the lips, tongue plundering his mouth; long and deep like a lover. Gentle. He starts to grind into him with the same care, fucking him slowly and shallowly. He doesn’t even give him all of his cock, as mentally straining as it is not to slam home and tear his ass in the process. Ahab is unresponsive again, head lolling to the side when Big Boss lets go of it, mouth hanging open and saliva flowing from it, both his own and Big Boss’s.

“Good boy,” Big Boss growls lowly into his ear, licking over his cheek and tasting faint traces of salt. He keeps rolling his hips and rocking the weaker, defenseless body trapped beneath his frame. “Just take it. Good boy…”

He adds another inch with the next thrust, mildly accelerating the pace. He grunts and looks at Ahab’s profile, sweat beading on his forehead, his brows drawn together in pain. Perhaps something’s getting through the thick fog that’s between them anyway, or his body is just reacting naturally. Big Boss kisses him again, grabbing his jaw, heat pooling in his gut and creeping into his own face.

“V,” he murmurs darkly, against his lips and again into his ear. “That’s your name, right?” Ocelot told him, the other day. V for Venom. V for Two. The second one. Big Boss doesn’t think so.

“V for Victory.”

Big Boss groans when his cock slips out of him, his motions having gotten a little too erratic, but that’s fine. He shifts back and inserts two, three, four fingers into his swollen hole, taking a few moments to stretch it even more, mold him around the girth, have him take it all. Then Big Boss rolls him over onto his stomach and grabs his waist, pulling him towards the edge of the mattress. He stands up, sets one foot one ground and one knee onto the bed, for a better angle and leverage. Ahab’s ass is now on full display, and Big Boss can’t help but smack one of its cheeks, the sharp slap reverberating in the small hospital room. He covers the reddening patch of skin with his large palm, kneading the flesh.

“Mine,” he says, solemnly. “You better don’t be getting any funny ideas once you’re on your own out there.”

He momentarily thinks of Kaz, and his expression darkens a little. He promptly continues where he left off, sliding his dick back between Ahab’s ass cheeks and into his hole, and this time he slams the entire length into him until his balls smack against his. Big Boss moans, and Ahab squirms weakly, making an unintelligible, raspy noise.

Big Boss grabs him by the neck and pins him to the mattress with his weight.

“Still doing good,” he tells him, his other hand steadying his waist. “Good… ‘s alright…”

Then he starts to plow; forcing his too-big cock into him over and over again, in an unforgiving, gruelling rhythm that only increases in intensity the longer it goes on. Ahab’s whimpering is drowned out by the consistent slapping of skin and balls as well as Big Boss’s reassuring murmurs. The pad of his thumb presses into Ahab’s rapid pulse and trachea. Ahab's fingers claw at the sheets, finding no purchase, subjected to Big Boss's brutal pace.

“Fuck,” Big Boss cusses, going faster as his own orgasm approaches. He really wants to cum into his ass, wants to bury his teeth in his neck, but he knows he can’t leave any marks or he’d have to deal with some uncomfortable questions. “Fuck, V.”

Only by chance does he spot - _smell_ \- something darker than saliva in the dim half-light, running down the inside of Ahab’s thigh. Big Boss stops instinctively and pulls out, examining his gaping asshole - and what’s turning out to be blood.

He pulls the rubber off with a _snap_ , and there’s traces on it too.

“…Ugh.”

So much for not leaving any marks. He wraps the condom up in a tissue, then plucks another one from the box in order to clean Ahab’s ass up, before he flips him back around and sits next to him. He pulls his doppelganger into an upright position at his side, wrapping an arm around him as he checks if there’s anything else.

There isn’t, from the looks of it, aside from a rather blatant erection that probably caused the stain on the sheets, too. Big Boss snorts a laugh.

“…You actually like it, don’t you,” he says, placing two fingers under his chin to lift his head up, look at his face, wet from tears and spit. “When I fuck you like this?”

Big Boss takes his remaining arm, and puts it around his own shoulders, resulting in an awkward, staged embrace. Big Boss tilts Ahab’s head and forces him into another messy kiss, spitting into his mouth as he does, and Ahab responds reflexively by swallowing and moving against him, tongue lapping against Big Boss’s.

“Good boy,” Big Boss praises him, when he parts. Saliva sticks to his beard and runs down his chin. “But I can’t have you making a mess. You can take care of mine, though. You’d like that?”

There’s no answer, and V continues to look at him with his eyes closed, already a mess himself. Big Boss kisses his right eyelid and stands, allowing V to slide onto the floor, and onto his knees. Big Boss holds him up by his disheveled hair, grabbing a fistful of it and reclining his head. His mouth falls open again, and Big Boss slaps his dick against his cheek, smearing precum over it as he guides the tip over to his lips, rubbing it over the bottom one and his limp, soft tongue a few times.

“Be good,” he reminds him, and lifts a knee to rest on the edge of the mattress again, so he can fuck down and into his throat. He starts out slow again, only giving him a few inches, and he takes it without issue. Big Boss watches the muscles in his bulging throat work and swallow as he feels himself leak more, and his prick penetrates his esophagus, causing Ahab to weakly gag for the first time, the canal constricting almost painfully around his erection.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he grunts. “That’s it.” He rams his dick into throat and Ahab convulses and gags violently, eyes watering with tears that flow freely over his cheeks when Big Boss does it again, and again, and again, resolutely keeping him in place even when the body tries to escape the assault. Big Boss’s heavy ballsack crashes against his jaw with every merciless thrust, and there’s only the slightest graze of teeth along his shaft.

He can hear him breathe frantically through his nose, trying to keep himself afloat. He gags, and chokes, and suffocates. His pulse races.

“I’m gonna cum,” _smack,_ “right down,” _smack,_ “your throat.”

_Won’t even have to swallow most of it._

Big Boss fucks his face until he reaches his peak, pounding his mouth like any other orifice, and then he blows his load right into his esophagus, pressing Ahab’s head between his legs to fully impale him on his cock. He makes choked, guttural noises in the back of his throat, but it’s all stifled. He swallows repeatedly around Big Boss’s cock, prolonging his orgasm.

“Ahh,” Big Boss sighs, satisfied, when he’s done, pulling Ahab off his cock to inspect him.

“Good -”

His eyes are open.

Big Boss stares at the ceiling above his bed, listening to the noise of the steady beep of the ECG on the other side of the room, the rhythm of silence. He blinks. He turns his head to see that the curtain’s drawn close, though he knows that his doppelganger’s still there, still at his side. Sleeping. Resting. Waking, soon.

Soon. He’ll be gone soon.

He rolls over onto his stomach, and tries to think of something else.


	3. BONUS

RAD ART

By [Feriowind](https://feriowind.tumblr.com/)


End file.
